- Books, Literature, and Writing
Secret Letter To Klaus: A Poem Time Capsule For My Son, In November 2011
Secret Letter To My Son
Beware the overcast short day my boy
In this world, when there's little light, it can be the most cursory of black holes
Except you my little one year old friend, somehow
You are an infinitely glowing zenith, you are
All the suns whirling around the center of the Milky Way
I hope you don't make the mistakes I made, though
I wish for you better decisions than those I've made, though
You may not
You don't need to be President, a Doctor, Lawyer, Dentist or
Any sort of societal success, though
You must always stand up for poor people and
Stand up to the bullies of this world, sincerely
Be a couch surfer, I wish for you the heart of my hobo friend
Be strong, achieve good medicine, achieve good spirit
Embrace and reflect failings, forgive
With all your being, but don't let them berate you with their lies
Over and over and over again, stand against those kinds
Today we watched your little bear claws grab the kitchen table
Then you tumbled, you
Fell, then cried and cried
Your mother, your sister and me, we wish
We could stop it, confounded gravity, and confounded hate, and the mean
Countenance of cheap wealth
You sprang up each time though, from
Your fall, you shook the anger off, the tears flew
Away from us all, and your resilience inspires your kin, son
You give us will and a hidden spring of hope
Be very kind, be gentle to women, be honest with your work, grow
Those muscles my boy, grow that Basal Ganglia grow
That Occipital Lobe but by God, retain your essence man, shelter
Those friends and family as you can
We have sequestered a few items in your heart, unbeknownst
To you Klausy
A few kisses from your ma and I, while
You whistled quietly breathing our air while you dreamt of wild grapes, an everlasting
Hug from Isabella India too
I put my loud, bellowing voice in there, but don't take it out unless
You really have to, be pleasant, be extroverted, be polite
We, us three, put a strange diamond in there, not the type
You might put on a beauties finger one day no
The industry kind, the poetic kind of diamond that can cut
Deep through sandstone strata of adversities purveyors, cut deep
Through false leaders decorated hubris, use it again only
If you must
Be kind my son, be strong, don't believe the wealthy wicked, find
Believe in the rich at heart, the platinum altruism that is no material but is
A gentle hand, that shades those burned by this worlds heat
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